


Just One More Game

by greenho4



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Logan also pops in but he's not relevant, M/M, actually idk where exactly the timeline for this goes but yeah, it's just a mix of references from the movies!!, set some time before the beginning of dofp sorta, yes they play chess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenho4/pseuds/greenho4
Summary: Far into the future, the mutants have gone into hiding as the world seeks to hunt them down, scattered all over the world. Charles and Erik haven't seen each other in years, but one day, Erik shows up at Charles' doorstep, asking for just one more chess game.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Kudos: 11





	Just One More Game

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know the timeline makes no sense cuz it's just a jumble of references from the movies. This is set probably before the intro of DOFP.

The weather was strange again. It had been, for the past few years. But it seemed it was always especially worse in December, as if the end of the world knew the best time to dash hope was during the holiday season.

From his makeshift office, Charles could hear the fierce winds beating relentlessly on the walls. They had no windows in their new shelter (Somehow, miraculously, their new refuge had yet to be discovered. Charles hoped they could stay for at least a month, but he knew the chances were slim. They were burning safe houses like candles in the winter), but he could imagine the toxic, acidic rain outside clearly, having seen it more than a dozen times by now, whenever he dared venture outside (whenever Logan and Hank let him, anyway. They seemed to have given themselves the roles of his caretakers. He didn’t need one, let alone two. He wasn’t  _ that _ old. They disagreed).

Thunder rumbled outside, so loud that he could swear the walls moved. Charles shook his head, turning his attention back to the papers in his hands. He had been reviewing all their files, but it seemed little could help them now. The world was ending. At least,  _ their _ world was ending. His time as a professor was long gone, but his students still needed him. He refused to give up.

There was a loud knock on the door, and Charles did not have to use his powers to know who was there.

“Come in, Logan,” Charles called out, setting down his papers back onto his desk and wheeling himself out from behind the desk.

Logan opened the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges, and lumbered in, his footsteps slow and heavy. It seemed old age was catching up to everyone.

“There’s someone here to see you, Charles,” said Logan. “Even brought an offering. God, I haven’t had a good drink in years. Not a real one, anyway. The shit Hank buys doesn’t count. He doesn’t know anything.”

He held up a bottle, its worn out label marking it as a product from a time before. It would have been a hard item to come by. Charles wondered who it was.

Logan set the bottle down on the nearby table before turning back to Charles. 

Charles could see him hesitate, his expression oddly guarded as he absentmindedly scratched at his beard.

“What is it?” Charles asked.

“It’s your ex,” Logan finally said, scoffing at the word “ex”, in that gruff way of his.

Charles raised an eyebrow at him (He may have lost his hair, but never his eyebrows. He  _ refused _ to let that happen.). “Moira? Isn’t...isn’t she...gone?”

Logan rolled his eyes, taking out a glass and pouring himself a hefty drink from the new bottle. He took a large swig before speaking again. “Not that one. The other one. You know, with the stupid Halloween costume. The one who always chooses to float in the sky like a lunatic.”

Charles tensed. Logan’s words would have been odd to anyone else, but Charles only knew of one such person. “...Erik?”

Logan nodded, finishing the rest of his glass and letting out a contented sigh. “He hasn’t tried to kill me yet, and he claims he’s come in peace. Even waved a white flag and all. The ridiculous helmet isn’t with him either.”

“Well, let him in then,” said Charles. “I suppose I’ll let him talk.”

Logan shook his head as he headed out, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t know what you see in him.”

It was not long before the infamous Magneto arrived. Charles could feel his presence as he neared, though he hadn’t meant to. There were some minds that were just too familiar to him; recognizing them was as instinctive as breathing.

Erik entered calmly. Logan had been right--his signature helmet was nowhere in sight. He was dressed in oddly simple clothes: a sweater and pants, all soaked with what Charles presumed was rainwater. In his right hand, he lazily held a limp white flag, and in his other, he held a large wooden box. Charles recognized it right away. A chess set.

“Hello, Charles,” Erik greeted, and his voice rekindled something buried deep within Charles. The years had done a number on Erik--his hair was gray and his face full of wrinkles--but his voice was always the same. Charles would recognize it anywhere.

“Erik,” Charles returned, a little stiffly. He did not move towards him.

Erik seemed not to notice the subtle hostility. The former criminal observed the opened bottle on the nearby table, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Did you enjoy my gift?”

“I didn’t drink it,” Charles said. “I don’t really drink anymore. It dulls the senses, and my senses are the one thing I need these days.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “It was Wolverine, wasn’t it?”

“His name’s Logan,” Charles said, a little crossly. “And yes, he did drink it. You can’t hand him alcohol and expect him to  _ not _ take a sip.”

Erik muttered out a few swears at Logan. Charles let him finish.

“Why have you come here, Erik?” Charles asked once Erik was done.

Erik shrugged and held up the chess board. “Isn’t it obvious? I came here for a game.”

“A game.”

“Yes. Just like old times.”

“I don’t want to play with you,” said Charles. He felt tired all of a sudden. The world was ending, his students ( _ former _ students, Hank and Scott liked to point out constantly) were lost and dying, and Erik had come here for a  _ game _ . The professor was in no mood for such a thing.

“Just one game, Charles,” Erik said, almost begging. “Just one more game. That’s all I ask of you.”

Charles shook his head. “No. You should leave. You’re not welcome here.”

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” said Erik. “It’s the holidays, Charles. Or, it’s supposed to be, if the world wasn’t ending.”

He took a few steps towards Charles, closing the distance between them. “We’ve wasted so many years, Charles. We were young and stupid, and we fought. We shouldn’t have.”

Erik paused. “ _ I _ shouldn’t have.”

Charles pursed his lips, averting his gaze. “Yes, well, the years have passed, and what’s done has been done.”

“I want to make amends, Charles.”

“It’s a bit late for that.”

“Better late than never,” Erik replied.

“I don’t think amends start with having a fun game while everyone around us is hunted.”

“Amends...between the two of us. As in, personal amends.”

Charles was silent. He had nothing to say.

“Don’t you miss it?” Erik asked suddenly, smiling at him with his shark-like teeth, as if hoping to win him over with that alone. “The good old times, when we used to play every other day?”

Charles did not find the situation amusing. “You left, Erik. Or did you forget that?”

“That was a mistake on my part,” Erik admitted. “I was foolish. And look where it’s gotten us. Mutants are being exterminated at a faster rate than ever before. We need to team up. Work together.”

“It wasn’t just once,” Charles said in an injured tone. “You left after Apocalypse was defeated. You left after the whole fiasco with Trask.”

“Yes, well, I kind of had no choice with that last one,” Erik muttered.

“But you know what hurts the most?” Charles asked. “The first time. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” said Erik softly, guiltily.

“You even took Raven with you. And now where is she?”

It was Erik’s turn to say nothing.

“That’s right. She’s  _ gone _ . And you think amends will be made with one simple game.”

“It wouldn’t be simple,” Erik said. He shook his head, as if disagreeing with himself, but he did not explain.

Charles watched him, unwilling to pry into Erik’s mind. Despite everything, Charles was still hesitant on that front.

“One game, please,” Erik finally said. His eyes pleaded with Charles and the former professor swallowed, unable to resist. He knew those eyes.

“Fine,” Charles relented. “Just one more game. And then I want you to leave, and never bother me again.”

Erik smiled, relieved. He set the chess board onto the desk. Charles wheeled himself back to his original position, putting the wooden table between them. He was in no mood to be directly next to Erik.

Erik calmly set up the pieces, his hands slow and careful. Charles noted the pieces were made from metal.

“No powers,” said Erik, settling himself onto the chair in front of the desk, normally reserved for guests.

Charles smiled thinly. “I don’t need my powers to win against you, Erik.”

Erik smirked, his confidence brimming once again. “You might find I’ve improved at this game over the years, my friend. I’ve had practice. You might recall my time in jail, with nothing better to do.”

“I think calling the Pentagon a ‘jail’ is a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

Erik shrugged. “Well, it’s gone now, isn’t it? Nothing can keep me away.”

Charles hummed, neither agreeing or disagreeing. He made the first move, moving one of his pawns forward two spaces.

Erik followed suit, and soon they fell into a steady rhythm. Just like old times.

The game lasted longer than Charles had expected it to. Perhaps Erik  _ had _ improved over the years. Or perhaps Charles was (to his horror) simply growing old. He did not like either explanation.

Still, as Charles eyed the board and its set up, he knew he had won. Erik’s black King was cornered, with only one escape. But Charles would remedy that soon enough.

“Checkmate,” Charles said triumphantly, moving his Bishop into place.

“Is it, though?" Erik’s eyes gleamed.

“What?”

Charles stopped, his hand still on his white Bishop. He stared at the piece before him, at what was supposed to be Erik’s black King. Well, it  _ had _ been a normal black King. Charles was sure of it. He had been staring at it before.

And yet, the piece in front of him was no longer a black King. Not a normal one, anyway. From the bottom, it looked the same. But as Charles’ eyes made its way up the piece, the crown of the king was topped with something else--a ring, infused into the crown.

“That’s not a chess piece.”

“No, it’s not.” Erik’s expression was smug and Charles could see traces of the young man he had met all those years ago, who had tried stopping a moving submarine before he had been ready. The one who had yet to abandon him.

“We’re playing chess,” Charles said, unsure of what else to say. He felt his emotions race: confusion, irritation, and maybe--hope.

“We are. But not the version you think it is.” Erik carefully picked up the insulting fake piece.

Charles scowled. “This is ridiculous. Our game is done. Please leave.”

“The world’s ending, Charles,” Erik said softly, standing up and moving around the desk, making his way towards Charles. “It may be too late. But...if the world is going to end, I want to be by your side when it happens.”

“I know it might mean little to the world right now, especially as it’s ending, but we’re old and we have nothing to lose now,” Erik said, in that solemn, low tone he often used. It sent a shiver throughout Charles’ body. “I think we should take our blessings where we can get them, and spend the rest of our lives the way we want to. And right now, I want to be with you.”

Erik knelt, slowly. He struggled a little, his movements unstable due to his old age, but his hands were steady as he held up the King with the ring.

“Charles Xavier, will you marry me?”

Erik's eyes were firm and sure, fixed onto Charles.

Charles could see their past--all the old days of bickering and fighting and trying to kill each other--reflected in his eyes.

But, maybe, just maybe, as Charles looked into those eyes he knew so well, he thought he could see a little bit of the future, too.

He closed his hands firmly around the chess piece, over Erik’s own weathered hands. A promise, he told himself. Perhaps, it was time to think about his own happiness.

“Yes.”

  
  



End file.
